


The Wish

by Babyb26



Category: Aladdin (1992), Pocahontas (Disney 1995)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babyb26/pseuds/Babyb26
Summary: What happens when an intriguing peddler makes an offer that seems too good to be true? Can something so simple as a secondhand locket mend two broken hearts? Find out what ensues when fate decides to intervene in a most unexpected way! Multi-Chapters, original characters, and a blending of history and fanfiction.
Relationships: Pocahontas/John Rolfe (Disney), Pocahontas/John Smith (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Strange Tea with Strange Strangers (aka It's My Money and I Want it Now)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_partofthenarrative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_partofthenarrative/gifts).



> Multi-Chapters, original characters, and a blending of history and fanfiction. Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and concepts. Any borrowed original characters I have received permission of use by their creators.
> 
> I present this work as a belated birthday gift to HC247/a_partofthenarrative- Happy Very Late Birthday! I tried to blend some of your favorite fandoms together and follow the same theme of Soulmate AU. I hope you like this!

Chapter 1: Strange Tea with Strange Strangers (aka It's My Money and I Want it Now)

The carriage rocked side to side as it traversed over the icy wet streets of London. This venture was her first shopping outing from the comforts of Rolfe's country estate or from the palace that she'd had in nearly three weeks. After deftly preventing Radcliff's planned massacre of her people, Pocahontas had been formally ingrained into the word-wind court of King James I. Rolfe had been there, right by her side, as he was now in the creaking carriage. Rolfe gently lifted her gloved hand and brought it to his lips leaving a light kiss on the supple leather of her glove. She gave him a gentle smile in favor, the smile never fully reached her dark eyes. As she intended, he sat contently holding her hand in the carriage, completely unaware of the melancholy rolling inside her that tried tirelessly to burry. It was not good to think long upon the cause of her despondence or that of the other's face. Rolfe was talking to her, his cheerful tone excitedly described where he was taking her. Refocusing her attention, she found out that they were going to what he called the Winter market. Whatever it was, it would be a small reprieve from the palace and the formality of court life.

As they traveled further into London, her mood lightened, and she was grateful for the coming distraction. She could tell from the sharp smells wafting in from the carriage windows and the activity buzzing around storefronts and the open stalls that she saw, that the market had opened and was in full swing. She heard fishmongers and fruit sellers hawking their wares, while groups of men, women, and children wove their way through piled carts of steaming meat pies, breads, and spices. Only one word came to her mind as she watched the people move to and fro, alive, the market was alive even in the chill of winter. An excitement that she hadn't felt in weeks moved through her veins and she willed the carriage to stop so that she could explore the wonders of the bazaar. After a few more clips and clops from the horse team, the carriage came to halt and the carriage driver opened the door for them in a sudden jolt. John Rolfe climbed down the steps and awaited her exit from the carriage. Gathering the blue fall of velvet that made up her skirts, she carefully made her way down onto the snowy cobblestones in her heeled shoes. As soon as she made a connection to the cobbled street, a rush of enigmatic energy rushed up her spine and she suddenly knew that today's market venture wouldn't go as planned.

Arm and arm she and Rolfe passed vendor after vendor, the second coachman of their carriage carried piles and piles of their purchased goods: bolts of silks for the coming spring's dresses, an ermine hat and muff to show off the wealth of her courtly stipend, a gold timepiece for Rolfe, fine glassware for their dining table, freshly baked bread for their plates, pale powder for her face, French lace to decorate her ruffs and cuffs, and a lastly a basket full of books for starting her reading lessons. The pile and burden was so heavy that she knew the young charge would topple over if his burdens weren't lifted soon. Rolfe was eager to make it to an area of the market, which called the Dimond quarter. They continued their trek until, as predicted, the coachmen slipped on the slick pavers and their expensive packages lay strewn in front of a shop. At her concern for the coachman, Rolfe yielded their trek and gentlemanly helped the young man with their items back to the carriage; with his promise of quick return as she entered the shop, it's curious gold painted sign drawing in her attention.

It was an inquisitive shop: clocks of every type hung on gray walls, walking canes of every size tucked in corners, carpets of every color piled one on top of the other, masks of every make flowed out of tall woven baskets, books lined tall bookshelves against three of the store's walls, and jewelry charms of every metal and gemstone sparkled in half a dozen small cases. It was certainly an interesting shop, while well stocked and it seemed as if no one had entered it in a dozen years, as thick dust and cobwebs decorated the shop's bookshelves, cases, and walls. Ever curious, she ran her hands over the spines of books, unable to read their words, she wondered over to the store's corner and picked up an overturned paper mask from the ground. Pocahontas smiled as she saw the mask's oddly shaped thin face; with highly arched eyebrows, thin nose, thin mouth, deep-set eye holes, and a sharply painted black curling goatee. Pulling a handkerchief from her hidden dress pockets, she cleaned a nearby gilded mirror that was caked in dust. Bringing the outlandish mask up to her face, she saw a pair of dark eyes gazing back at her. Startled, the mask tumbled from her hands and back to the ground from whist it came. She turned in an instant, clutching a hand to her speeding heart, as she met the owner of those eyes.

"Ah, my friend do not want mar such a lovely face with that grotesque likeness, he was not good of a man in life," an aging man's words cut through the silence of the empty shop.

The man's accent certainly wasn't English, and he was of a tanned brown hue, like her. It wasn't his strangely pitched accent or the giant white turban, which nearly encompassed his whole frame, which made the little man odd to her. No, it was something in his being that she didn't trust. As if sensing her disquiet, the shop owner stepped back and motioned toward a steaming hot ornate teapot, which was laid out on the store's counter, that she would of sworn was not there a moment earlier.

"Salam, my friend. Some tea?" The man's words were friendly and he continued.

"Good day to you worthy friend. Please, please come closer.

Pocahontas stood pausing a bit, regarding the man carefully, before her head slowly nodded and she followed the peddler toward the oak counter.

"Welcome to my shop you m'lady. Let me pour you tea, it was not my intention to give you such a fright."

"What is this place?" She asked, wearily, and yet intrigued at the same time.

The shop owner lifted the tall brass teapot one-handed, as if it weighed nothing, as his other hand palmed the teacup. The amber tea poured in a perfect arch into the bowl-shaped cup and he lifted the cup upward, in offering, to her.

"M'lady, this is a place of mystery, of enchantment, and the best merchandise this side of the river Themes. I am sure I will have what you desire." His easy laugh broke through the tension and the shop suddenly felt lighter, the air suddenly clearer, and the dim room suddenly brighter.

A light smile moved across Pocahontas' face and she confidently picked up the offered tea. She gazed as the tea swirled in the warm brass cup in her hands and in an adventure mood, she lifted it to her lips and tasted the dark liquid. The tea held a light aromatic smell of mint and tasted of sweet cinnamon, honey, lemon, and something else she couldn't quite name.

"Mumm… there is a taste that I cannot name. What is it?" She licked her lips trying to place the flavor.

"It is cardamom and saffron my friend, it's Arabian tea. You like?"

"Yes, yes I like it." Pocahontas smiled over the teacup.

"I am but a poor peddler of wares, but I can always share a cup tea from my homeland."

The peddler smiled and offered her another cup and at her slight wave, placed it on the counter. Pocahontas moved closer to the counter, the glittering of a throng of objects on top of objects caught her eye and drew her in. Seeing the pretense of a sale, the peddlers quick eyes glanced at the case and at what the young woman saw. Moving along the inner counter, the store owner saw the hammered gold and enamel necklace that had so transfixed the young woman's eye.

"Ooh look at this, I haven't seen one of these completely intact before." The peddler's face was lit in awe, as he pulled the heart-shaped gold locket out of the case. The center of the locket was and enameled red heart with inlaid gold-filled words weaving across it. The chain of the locket were hammered gold links that end with an inlaid pearl closure. The clasp opening of the heart locket was somehow sealed and seemingly impossible to open.

"What do you mean?" Pocahontas questioned. "But you are selling it?" Confusion marred her face.

"Forgive me, my friend, I have seen many of these in my lifetime, yet I was unaware that this specimen was whole, unopened. I have forgotten a many a thing in my age," the peddler waved off his sense of wonder in exchange for the excitement of a potential sale.

"Would milady like to take a closer look?" The peddler gently removed the locket from a black velvet pillow and held the sparking heart out to her.

Her eyes were so transfixed on the locket that when her hand reached out of its own accord and she grasped, surprised to find it's weightiness in her hand. Up close, the redness of the enamel seemed to move, as if there was actual blood trapped inside the piece of jewelry. She rubbed a soft finger over the gold scrolled text, seeking to find meaning in the words.

"What does it say?" Pocahontas asked the trader, momentary blushing at the revelation that she couldn't read.

The older man understood her sudden quandary.

"Peace my friend, it is in the language of my homeland and very few people here could read the language of Agrabah."

Pocahontas swore she could feel a soft hum vibrate from the locket as if it were a living being. She leaned forward eyeing the heart closer.

"In my language milady, it says that whoever possesses the locket and is of pure heart, may have their deepest heart's desire." The peddler's voice softened as he continued in the words of his country.

"Raghba, raghba, raghba, min qalibi. Desire, desire, desire, desire of my heart." As he spoke the low words, the locket seemed to glow in the shops dimming light.

"Raghba, raghba, raghba, min qalibi," she repeated the words and the shopkeeper grinned softly.

"Correct milady…" The soft chime of the door's bell started her and the peddler.

"There you are! Pocahontas, we have been looking for you everywhere and here you are in this musty shop." John Rolfe's waved his hand to and fro as if trying to clear the store's air.

Startled by his sudden appearance and words, Pocahontas blushed in apology to the old peddler.

"Salam, my friend welcome to…"

John Rolfe cut the peddler short, "well are you finished; we must make haste to the Dimond quarter, we have to finish spending your royal purse."

Rolfe's annoyance was palpable. She reluctantly handed the locket back to the trader and turned to walk to the door.

"Wait don't go," the shop owner called. "I can see that you're interested in the exceptionally rare, I think that you would be most rewarded to consider this!"

"What is it that you were looking at Pocahontas? Jewelry? We can get a much more refined necklace in the diamond quarter."

Rolfe's dismissive tone was easily discernable, and the old trader countered quickly. He knew how to broker a hard sell.

"Do not be fooled by its commonplace appearance. Like so many things, it is not what is on the outside, but what is inside that counts."

"What?" Rolfe flippantly questioned.

"This is no ordinary locket; it once changed the course of a young man's life. A young man who was like this locket, more than what he seemed, a diamond in the rough. Perhaps you would like to hear the tale? It begins on a dark night, where a dark man waited with a dark purpose…."

"No, we have to go! Come, Pocahontas." Rolfe waved her forward in irritation.

When he was like this she felt belittled like she was some sort of trained animal; set to preform and obey at his or the court's will. Her small hands balled into fists and she straightened herself with all the dignity she could muster.

"No, then my friend? The peddler turned toward Pocahontas as if he could feel the shifting energy and the rise of rebellion taking over her sprit.

"Milady, I will make you a pretty price for one in need this particular gift." The peddler's deep black eyes caught her own and he nodded to her.

"I will kindly take it, sir." Why should she not buy it, it was her royal purse and she fancied the locket, no matter what strange story the peddler was trying weave about its origins and use.

"Rolfe, my royal purse." Pocahontas raised her open palm up, commanding Rolfe to hand her the coinage. He let out an exasperated sigh. She had demanded something; it had been a long time since she had, and it felt wonderful. Rolfe paid the storekeeper and snorted in annoyance as he walked back toward the store's entrance.

"I wish you happiness milady and it will help you do so." The peddler whispered to her as he handed her the wrapped locket.

Pocahontas slipped the parcel through the folds of her dress and into the sewn-in pockets that lay about her waist. As she exited the shop the peddler raised an amber-brown hand and waved to her.

"Salam, peace be with you milady!"

She nodded a final farewell to the intriguing shopkeeper. When the door closed behind her and she was ushered back into the chaos of the busy London market, Rolfe nitpicked again.

"What a strange man Pocahontas, really!"

"A strange man indeed," she concurred as they moved down the ancient stone streets.

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	2. Pandora’s Box, Ergo I Mean Necklace

Chapter 2: Pandora’s Box, Ergo I Mean Necklace 

The day had been long, and Pocahontas ached all over her body from walking on the hard cobblestone streets and the winter’s chill of London. Her royal purse was well spent and now she sought the recompense of her private bedchamber in Rolfe’s home. Pocahontas passed Rolfe and ascended up the home’s main staircase, declining his offer of a small romantic dinner in the drawing room, she declined the help of old Mrs. Jenkins. All she wanted right them was peace, rest, and to take the bloody heels attached to her feet off! Making it to the heavy ornate doors of her room, she opened and bolted the door, she would call for the kind old maid of all work later. Flopping gracelessly onto the soft silk counterplan, she threw the hard shoes to the ground and fell back against the bed. She was tired, more tired than she had ever been, and she knew that it wasn’t just the exhaustion of shopping or the constant demand of perfection directed at her from Rolfe and the court. This weariness was punctuated with a deep ache, as if her heart had somehow been carved out and just the shell of herself was left behind. She closed her eyes to her thoughts. Could she live like this? Could really have all she desired from this life of decadence and court convolution? What did she truly desire? 

Her eyes suddenly popped open and Pocahontas remembered the slight weight tied about her waist. Wasn’t that what the old peddler was speaking upon, about being granted one’s heart’s desire. Rising from her prone position she sat up and reached for the parcel within her hidden pockets. The locket lay still and heavy in her hands, the room’s candelabras giving the necklace a thousand pinpoints of light, as she lifted it up to gaze at the inlayed words. The shopkeeper had said few in this place could read the words of his homeland and the same could be said of those who knew her language. 

Could the locket really give her what she wanted, what she had craved in the deepest parts of her heart. Unconsciously, she gathered herself from the bed and walked toward the room’s great mirror. Almost taller than she and triple her width, the large mirror loomed in front of her. With delft hands she unhooked the pearl clasp of the necklace, moved her ink black hair to side, and slid the necklace around her slender neck. The locket was heavy, and the red enamel seemed to glow with an inner light as soon as it made connection to her skin. It was beautiful and well made, she wished she had been able to hear of its origins- of the young man’s destiny. 

Could it change my destiny?

The thought sprang forth in her mind quicker than what she would have liked. What could it hurt to try? After all, it was a pretty necklace, that had been overlooked and almost discarded for better wares. Trepidation radiated up her spine. Would she end up like how this necklace should have become: devalued, deposed, discarded? Her mind raced and then settled upon the fact that the locket had been saved and cherished by a humble man. 

Could she be spared too?

She could not read the words inlayed around the locket, but she did remember the words and cadence the shop keeper had used. Pocahontas closed her eyes intoned the words as she rubbed a reddish amber hand over the inlayed scrollwork. 

“Raghba, raghba, raghba.”

She opened her eyes, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Stepping closer to mirror she looked at the words and chanted again. 

“Raghba, raghba, raghba.” 

The room remained still and only her breathing punctuated the silence. 

Why did she not give up, this was a foolish endeavor? 

Then she remembered the whole verse. 

“Raghba, raghba, raghba, min qalibi.”

A sharp ringing began radiating from the room’s mirror. The large mirror began to shake and buckle from the wall. She covered her ears and began backing away, but ringing didn’t stop. Halfway across the room she realized the sound was following her, it was all around her and then she realized that the sound did not come from the mirror but from herself, from the necklace. Pocahontas reached down to yank the locket from her neck, but when her hand landed upon the enameled heart it burned like she had touched molten sun. A red brand, in the shape of an arrow, lay where she had touched the necklace. Louder and louder the ear-piercing pitch screamed, and the mirror exploded into a million shards of glass inward. Then what felt like the strength of a hundred winds lifted her up into the air. Her raven colored hair loosened in the wind and wove around her like ink spilled in water. As she fought to see through her hair and the force of the wind, she saw the room fall away-bit by bit- as she was carried through the broken mirror, and into the infinite crystalline light of nothingness.

When the blinding light receded, Pocahontas found herself draped across a small bed, it’s soft mattress and clean white sheets breaking her fall. Bewildered, dazed, and possibly losing her mind she lay pondering what exactly happened. Once minute she was in the comfort and refinery of John Rolfe’s estate and now she was, she was, where exactly was she? Voices drew her out of her inner monologue, she could hear a woman calling. Pocahontas scrambled from the bed searching for a place to hide, worrying about her safety at being found in someone else’s home. Unfortunately, the room’s door swung open and she froze. Seconds felt like minutes and her heart beat fast in terror as she waited for the room’s occupant to come through the door. A young boy of four or five came barreling through the threshold in such a hurry he must not have seen her, she didn’t remember having the time to hide, yet the boy went straight to the room’s windowsill and grabbed a small toy ship and ran back out of the room. The door remained wide open. Could the child help her? She didn’t even know where she was, let alone how she would get back to Rolfe’s estate. Could she be brave and find the women whose voice she heard? What choice did she have, really, she couldn’t remain in the child’s bedroom forever? If the gods deemed it was time for her to enter the lands of the ancestors, then she wouldn’t hide in a child’s bedroom. Gathering her courage, she walked out of the room and into the unknown.

Lavender and baking bread, the soothing smell permeated the English and she could hear voices in the distance. Walking down a small hallway to her left and down a flight of stairs, she made her way toward the unoccupied main room of the dwelling. The smells grew stronger and she was sure that if she pushed on the oaken door facing her, it would easily give way to the building’s kitchen and to loaves upon loaves of freshly baked bread. While voices seemed too far off, the room that she thought was unoccupied clearly held some life. In the cheerful daylight, she could make out elaborately dressed figures, paintings, that hung in gilt frames from the room's walls. Drawn in by this unexpected spark of presence, she entered fully into the room. Her eyes were drawn to the portrait of a family. Although clearly not of the nobility, as their practical dress attested, the young couple pictured within held a nobleness that she had yet to see in her time in King James's court. As her eyes drifted lower, she clearly made out the image of a young boy, the same child that had barreled through his room to find a small wooden ship. She steeped closer to the image and gazed at the boy’s bright eyes that seem so familiar to her. 

The laughter of a group of people snapped her attention back to her predicament. Gathering all the inner strength she had, Pocahontas stood ready to face the coming onslaught, after all she was the daughter of the paramount chief of her people. Bursting through the main doorway came two men, a woman with a small girl on her hip, and the young boy she had seen earlier. She expected screams, yelling, or at least startled gasps but the people passed her merrily making their way toward the oak door. 

“What is happing?” 

The words escaped her mouth before she could catch them. She debated on whether or not to run for the main door or seek out the assistance of the family pictured in the in the large frame. Remembering that she didn’t even know where she was, Pocahontas pushed through the oak door. She had been right; the door held the home’s kitchen. The family was gathered at a large dining table in which loaves of freshly baked bread and lavender sat in its center. Bowls were being passed around to each occupant and the woman, whose golden waves moved softly in the light wind from the rooms’ large open window, stood and brightly smiled as she spooned a hearty soup into the earthenware bowls. The woman was stunningly beautiful and seemed so familiar and yet she had never seen this woman in her life. Seated, a red-haired man spoke to another man, whose hair and freckles matched the woman’s. The small boy, whose face was a miniature version of the red-haired man, but his gold hair was too similar to the women and she had to be his mother. He played with a toy ship much larger than the one he had claimed from his bedroom earlier, while the small red-haired girl happily giggled. The happiness surrounded Pocahontas. 

“Hello, forgive me but I need your…” 

She didn’t know what was happening, how could they just keep on taking when a complete stranger stood in the middle of their kitchen. Pocahontas walked closer to the family. 

“Hello, I need your help… Hello!” 

The words came out in a rush, but it was of no matter. The family continued on with their conversation as if Pocahontas was not there. Was she dead and had she somehow crossed over to a strange version of the good hunting grounds of the English?

Talking and eating and then the blond man leaned down to the boy and spoke, “that is a replica of Drake’s Golden Hind. Look and the cannons just there.”

“Thank you so much uncle, it’s my bestist toy!” The boy’s joy radiated throughout the room. His mother finished spooning out the soup and sat on his father’s lap, her blue eyes lovingly watching her brother and son bond. 

“When I get big I wanna be a merchant just like you uncle and go on lots of adventures!” The boy proclaimed this so meaningfully that even her heart was moved and wished this much for him. 

“Are you sure nephew? I don’t go on adventures my boy, that’s for the queen’s adventurers, soldiers, and sailors. But you could one day be like them, if that’s your heart’s greatest desire.” The boy’s parents laughed but gave slightly stern looks to the boy’s uncle.

“Don’t encourage him, a farmer that owns his own land, house, animals, fine furnishings, and hearth is just as good as an adventurer or merchant for that matter.” The child’s father chimed in. However, it was already too late, and she could see determination take root in the young boy’s eyes. 

The child set his shoulders and spoke in his loudest voice without waver, “My heart’s desire is to be an adventurer and find my most valuable prize!” 

It started at the back of her head, then within seconds the ringing of high-pitched bells surrounded her. The angary wind was back, blowing through the large open kitchen window and yet the family kept eating, and being merry. She was lifted again and as the room and people fell away, she was pulled through the large window. Pocahontas was engulfed into hues so deep a red, yellow, and orange that they resembled flames, yet she somehow wasn’t consumed by them. 

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